Feb 12
After-Image
Lightning cracks across the sky, bathing the distant woods in brilliant white; and Leo flinches, tasting cold and bloody rain in his mouth.
The reality of the farmhouse seeps back in slowly, each piece of it a fresh humiliation in the face of his racing heartbeat: the low whistle of the old kettle, a soft tapping from sensei's walking stick, April's voice lifted in companionable conversation. He stares out the rain-streaked window, wondering with dull resignation how many storms he will have to chase to find again the courage left in pieces on a rooftop; the ability to hear only the thunder, and not the mocking laugh.